


1989

by cinnamon_skull



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, And Jean has no chill, Dirty Talk, Dominant! Marco, M/M, Marco has a lovely singing voice, Road Trips, Taylor Swift songs, what could go wrong?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-19
Updated: 2015-05-19
Packaged: 2018-03-31 06:06:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3967267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinnamon_skull/pseuds/cinnamon_skull
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean and Marco are on an eight hour road trip from New York City to Toronto. What could go wrong?  Ask Jean Kirschtein--just don't mention Taylor Swift.  Based on the "Texts from Last Night" fic meme on tumblr: (514): Do you want me to add this to the list of actions I will state at your intervention?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1989

It had started innocently enough. Looking back now, there were plenty of early warnings, and Jean wished he’d been more perceptive. At the time, he’d thought it was cute.

Cute.

That was the beginning of his downfall, and now Marco was so far from cute the word seemed hollow against his lips. Empty.

“Jean.” Jean continued to stare out the window, relishing in each jab of pain that ran through his skull as his forehead knocked against the cool glass with every bump of tire against weathered pavement.

They were making their yearly pilgrimage to Canada, the eight-hour car ride to Toronto, where Marco’s family lived. Where Marco grew up.

An image of eight-year-old Marco Bodt flashed behind his eyelids—smiling, gap toothed, too many freckles beneath sunburnt cheeks, sharp elbows and knobby knees. It reminded him of a puppy, the way they grew into their paws and ears—and they looked gangly and awkward, until one day everything else caught up.

_“Jean.”_

And then the puppy-that’s-not-a-puppy shits in the middle of your living room.

“What?” Jean hissed, not turning around to look at Marco.

“Are you mad?” Marco’s voice was even, but Jean could hear the worry beneath, and it only made him angrier.

“No Marco, I like being curled up in a fetal position and banging my head against the window during hour three of our eight hour car ride,” Jean snapped.

“Well it’s just that normally we’d be playing the license plate game by now, and I just think we’re missing out,” Marco continued, ignoring Jean’s general crabbiness. “I think I just saw a license plate for Hawaii, I’m not kidding—”

“MARCO,” Jean yelled, whipping his head around to stare at his boyfriend in disbelief. “I can’t believe you right now.”

“Hey, now we got problems,” Marco started.

“DON’T DO IT,” Jean said, grabbing the handle of the passenger side door and unlocking it. “I swear to god Marco, I’ll jump out of the car right now if you finish that sentence.”

“And I don’t think we can solve them,” Marco started belting, ignoring Jean’s threats. “You made a really deep cut. And, baby, now we’ve got bad blooooooodd.”

“MARCO!” Jean rubbed his hands through his hair viciously. “Marco, baby, you’ve got to stop with the Taylor Swift. You are killing me.”

“Come on, Jean, I’m just having a little fun!” Marco tried to grab Jean’s hand, but he slapped it away.

“No, Marco, no one is having fun anymore. You have been singing Taylor Swift songs for three hours,” Jean held up three fingers in Marco’s face. “THREE. HOURS.” So what if Marco had a great voice, all smooth tenor like polished oak.

“Oh, come on,” Marco said, turning on his signal and pulling up to a gas station. “Besides, I know you like her music.”

“I didn’t say anything when you begged me to wear that cheerleader outfit from the ‘Shake it Off’ video you like so much,” Jean muttered.

“Hey, I didn’t hear you complaining, in fact, I remember your distinct lack of ability to form coherent sentences.”

Jean continued on as if Marco hasn’t spoken. “And did I complain when you dragged me to a Taylor Swift concert, where a group of ten year old girls hopped up on sugar mad-dogged me for four songs until you left to get us more drinks, and then proceeded to call me names and belittle me until I let them have our seats?”

“Yes, actually, you wouldn’t shut up about it,” Marco responded, digging in his back pocket for his wallet. “I told you, you were being too sensitive, they were just teasing you, Jean, and they were eight not te—”

“They were calling me Seabiscuit and neighing at me, but that doesn’t matter now,” Jean cut him off. “This isn’t about me. This is about your obsession with Taylor Swift. When is it going to end, Marco?”

Marco hid a smile behind his hand. “Come on, Jean.”

Jean crossed his arms over his chest and refused to give in. Marco could melt steel with his smile, Jean had learned the hard way, but he wasn’t budging on this. Even if he had to spend eight hours in uncomfortable silence just to get his way.

“Okay,” Marco said. But then his smiled disappeared, and he leaned in close, right in Jean’s space, until he could smell him, heady and woodsy, and it felt like standing at the edge of a great, dark forest.

“You know I can’t take it when you get all broody.” One hand, warm and hard, cupped his knee before slowly moving up, toward his crotch. “Makes me want to push you into the backseat and fuck the aggression out of you until you’re begging me to let you come.”

And just like that, Jean was putty in Marco’s capable hands. His blood was zinging with warmth and want. “Uhh.”

Marco kissed him quickly, with too much teeth and not enough tongue, before pulling back.

“And you’ve got that James Dean daydream look in your eye,” he whispered against Jean’s mouth. Jean’s head snapped up, but Marco was already pulling back with a smirk. He laughed, ducked and dove through the door before Jean could punch him.

Jean watched him saunter his way across the parking lot and through the gas station’s glass door. He grabbed his phone from his pocket and angrily typed out:

_Do you want me to add this to the list of actions I will state at your intervention?_

It was a moment before his phone buzzed again in his lap.

_When I get back to the car, I’m driving us to the next rest stop and fucking your brains out while we listen to 1989 on repeat, and the only word I want to hear out of your mouth is Marco._

Well, who was Jean to come between a man and his Taylor Swift?

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Jean/Marco drabble - although I have cherished them for a long time. Hope you enjoyed :3 Please leave comments/kudos, they warm my heart.
> 
> I may continue this with various Jean/Marco drabbles.
> 
> Come play with me on [tumblr](http://www.cinnamonskull.tumblr.com/).


End file.
